


The Golden Braid

by embroiderama



Series: Golden Braid [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Multi, Romance, Seduction, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where threesome relationships are the norm, Peter and El insist they're happy all on their own. Their life together starts to change when Peter's investigation takes him into the path of Neal, an artist who believes that being alone is better than risking another broken heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Braid

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for roslindi for the wcpairings exchange, for a combination of the prompts "Peter/Elizabeth/Neal. AU in which poly relationships/marriage is the social norm" and "Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, AU. Neal's not a criminal, he's an artist. How OT3 happens anyway." Many thanks to jane_eyre for the very kind last minute beta.

Whenever anybody asked Elizabeth Mitchell why she and Peter Burke were still alone as a duo, why they hadn't found a third person to make their marriage complete, El told them that she and Peter were happy with just the two of them. It was the truth, after all, and El resented the way the busybodies of the world would cluck their tongues and shake their heads. Even her own mother wasn't immune, and El thought that she of all people would have understood.

It wasn't that she didn't see the appeal of a traditional three-person marriage. Peter worked so much, and while Elizabeth loved him beyond all reason some of his leisure-time pursuits were things that she only cared to share with him on a limited basis. She knew that Peter felt similarly, even if he was trying to cultivate an interest in antiquing for her benefit. Having another man around to bridge that gap sounded like a wonderful idea but Peter was very rarely attracted to other men, and El had known that when they married. She would never pressure him to look at bringing a man into their marriage any more than he would ask her for the reverse.

For her part, Elizabeth loved having other women in their bed. She loved the feeling of soft skin and curves to match her own, and she loved seeing Peter worn out, dazed with bliss. What she wouldn't do was agree to bring another woman into their household, into their relationship long-term. She grew up with the chaos of constant friction between her mother and Cynthia and then the happiness and calm that had settled in when her parents found Ben. Her mother's struggle to make things work had nearly caused their marriage to shatter entirely into thirds, and El would never risk what she had with Peter.

Peter didn't really understand, though he seemed to respect her feelings on the matter. He'd grown up with two mothers who raised him hand-in-hand, and El knew that on some level he'd always wish for that. But they'd married each other with their eyes open and enough love between them to make their two-thirds feel whole; neither of them truly wanted anything that would risk the solidity of their relationship.

Still, she couldn't help seeing the happy threesomes around her. The women she worked with were all either single or in complete marriages. Diana, from Peter's office, was engaged to Christy and Alicia, and El hoped to be asked to plan their wedding very soon. Some of the other agents were single or divorced, but most had braided gold wedding rings shining on their hands.

~~~

Peter tapped his pen on his desk while he looked over the file on Mozart Reproductions for what must have been the thirtieth time. There was no evidence to tie the company or any of their artists to the flow of forged paintings making their way from New York to Macao, but Peter couldn't quite let it go. Part of it was that he loved a good art forgery case. He didn't have Phil Kramer's flawless eye for spotting forgeries, but he enjoyed examining the level of detail that went into creating a high-end forgery. His research on the subject had certainly increased his ability to keep up with El when it came to the gallery openings she loved to attend, and he loved being able to share that with her.

It seemed strange to Peter that the only thing that stood between a forgery and a hand-painted reproduction was the lack of pretense on the part of the seller. Even when it came to cost, though the legal reproductions didn't sell for the astronomically high prices that the forgeries commanded, they were still well above what Peter could afford for something that would decorate his living room. No doubt many of Mozart Reproductions' customers hung the works on their walls and let visitors assume they were the real thing, but that was neither illegal nor any of Peter's business.

Mozart's books checked out; they did well but no better than was reasonable for their business. The owner was squirrelly and paranoid, but Peter couldn't arrest him for that. Their lead artist, the man who did the work that raised the firm's products above the standard "museum quality" reproductions, was far more fascinating. Peter couldn't stop looking back over the man's file, and the only way he could interpret that was his gut pointing him in the direction he should look for a solution to their case.

Neal Caffrey was 32 years old, and he'd dropped out of art school more than a decade earlier. He'd been single for several years, and it appeared that he'd been engaged to Vincent Adler and Kate Moreau until shortly before he began his career at Mozart Reproductions. Something about the man was intriguing, and while Peter had been forced to take his team off of the investigation into the company he'd put some more time into investigating Caffrey himself.

Before renting a two-bedroom apartment that he shared with Mozart's owner, Caffrey had rented a room from June Ellington, an older woman who had provided the start-up cash for Mozart Reproductions. A portrait of her hung in the company's reception area, and Peter suspected it had been painted by Caffrey himself. Surveillance from the street showed Peter that Caffrey did use his apartment as a studio separate from his professional workspace, but what Peter could see appeared to be original work, not forgeries bound for Macao.

Still, Peter couldn't let it go. Every time he tried to move on to another avenue of investigation he'd be drawn back to Caffrey's picture in the file, those pale blue eyes pulling him back in. As usual. Peter rehashed his progress on the case with Elizabeth over dinner, and in the middle of another one of Peter's meandering attempts to figure out why he was so sure Caffrey was integral to the case she cut him off.

"Hon, what does he look like, this Neal Caffrey?"

"Well, he's a few inches shorter than me. Slim but strong. Good-looking."

"Yeah?" She nodded for Peter to continue.

"Bright smile, a little too bright sometimes but I think it's mostly genuine. Big, blue eyes that, well--" Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. "They kind of remind me of yours."

"Really?" El arched one eyebrow. "Other than your suspicions about the case, do you like him?"

"I--" Peter opened his mouth to say that he didn't know the guy well enough to like him or dislike him, but he'd had a few conversations with Caffrey, and while he was understandably tense about drawing attention from the FBI, he'd also been friendly and polite. When the accounting files Peter was waiting for arrived, he'd felt a pang of disappointment that he had to end their conversation and go back to work. It was strange. "You know Hon, I think I do. He's smart, definitely."

El bit her lip and just looked at Peter long enough that he started to squirm, unsure if he'd upset her. "What?"

"Honey," she started slowly, palms flat on the table, "it sounds almost like you have a crush on him."

Peter's heart pounded, and he swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. "Oh my god," he whispered.

"I don't mean to push. You know I would never--"

"No," he said, feeling far away from normal. "No, you're right." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, hon. I didn't realize.

"You don't have anything to apologize for, but Peter? Once you finish clearing him in your investigation, I want to meet this man who's caught my husband's eye."

She flashed Peter one of her mischievous smiles, and Peter found that he liked the idea of spending time with Neal Caffrey without his badge between them. He liked it a lot.

~~~

Neal was woolgathering, staring out the window of the third-floor studio where he worked, trying to gather inspiration from the life and the flow of the city below, when he saw the FBI agent again. He had to laugh at himself sometimes--if he wasn't doing original work he shouldn't need inspiration--but Neal thought of painting reproductions as being a little bit like acting. In order for the finished piece to give the viewer the same kind of feeling and mood as the original, Neal had to slip inside that himself, feel the energy of the original while he painted.

He took it as a compliment to the quality of his work that Agent Burke believed he was passing them off as forgeries, and it was tempting to imagine living the high life instead of sharing a two-bedroom apartment with Mozzie. On the other hand, he _really_ never wanted to go to prison, and who would take care of his fish if he and Mozzie had to flee the country? Fortunately, they made good money doing legal reproductions, enough to live reasonably well in Manhattan even if they weren't quite living on Central Park West the way he'd been, ever so briefly, before everything with Kate and Vincent fell apart.

Living and working with Mozzie, Neal didn't have much of an opportunity to be lonely. He found plenty of bed partners, and while some duos had tried to draw him in, Neal always pulled back. He made a point of avoiding them now, duos who acted like they were in the market to complete their relationship, and stuck to dating other singles and occasionally falling into bed with twosies, rarely seeing the same people twice. That thought brought Neal back around to the FBI agent. They had chatted for a while, and one of the few things he'd said about his personal life was that he and his wife weren't looking for anybody else, so they sounded like dedicated twosies to Neal.

Then again, Agent Burke didn't seem like the kind of man who would take a suspect home with him, so it didn't really matter. Nonetheless, Neal had found himself sketching what he remembered of the shape of Agent Burke's shoulders under his trench coat, the lines of his face and the way they softened when he dropped his guard and talked about his wife. Seeing the man walk up to the company's front door below him, Neal didn't know whether to be worried that Agent Burke might have found some reason to continue investigating them or pleased for the opportunity to see how well his memory stood up to the real thing.

A few minutes later, he heard even footsteps in the hallway and then a knock on the frame of his open door.

"Excuse me, Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal turned around as if startled and made a show of putting down his paints, as if he'd been engrossed in his work rather than staring into space and contemplating the breadth of Agent Burke's chest. "Agent Burke, hello! Do you need any more paperwork or are you in the market for a painting this time?"

"Well, neither," Burke said, putting his hands on his hips and then dropping them to his sides again, as if he didn't know what to do with himself when he didn't have a file or a badge or a gun in his hands. "I thought I should let you know that we closed the case. And cleared your company, of course."

Neal scrutinized Agent Burke's face, trying to figure out what was really going on. It didn't make sense that an FBI agent would make a special trip just to let him know they'd cleared him. "Congratulations."

"I want to thank you for being so helpful even when I'm sure I was a pain in your ass."

Neal shrugged. "It wasn't a problem. After all, I didn't have anything to hide."

"I'm glad." Burke smiled then, his face looking softer than Neal had seen before. "Listen, I do have one other question for you."

"Yes?"

"Will you come out to dinner with me and my wife?"

Neal's heart jumped, and he swallowed back his surprise. "Dinner? Like a date or--"

"I think, yeah." Burke looked uncomfortable but he didn't turn away. "It turns out I mentioned you to my wife a time or ten maybe, and she wants to meet you. Of course, it doesn't have to be anything other than dinner."

Neal looked at the wedding ring on Agent Burke's hand, yellow and pink gold twisted together. "But I thought you two were--" He stopped himself just short of saying _twosies_. "--a duo?"

"We are, but I don't know. Life's all about change, isn't it?"

"I guess it is." But nothing had changed for Neal in years. He'd started to think that was a good thing, but the idea of spending more time with Agent Burke was tempting, and Neal was curious to meet the woman who knew who he was when he didn't have a badge on his hip. "So, Agent Burke, where are we going for dinner?"

Burke grinned then, a satisfied, open smile that made Neal want to lean forward and taste the happiness on his lips. "I'm thinking you should call me Peter," he said.

"Hi, Peter." Neal reached out and took Peter's hand. He could feel its breadth and strength as they shook hands slowly. "I'm Neal."

Peter grinned again, and Neal loved being the person to put that smile on his face.

~~~

The restaurant was only six blocks away, so Neal walked, giving himself time to calm his nerves and quiet his anxieties. He hadn't been so nervous going on a date in years, but he found himself looking down while he walked, smoothing his shirt, checking his suit jacket for lint, making sure he was as perfect as he could possibly be. He knew he'd most likely end being overdressed, at least compared to Peter, but he loved his suits and his job gave him few opportunities to wear them. His appreciation for fine clothing was the only good thing he'd taken away from the fiery wreck of his relationship with Kate and Vincent, and while he'd left the penthouse with little money to his name and little pride, he'd taken the suits Vincent had commissioned for him.

Vincent might have treated him like just another attractive prop on the set of his life, but the suits were a part of Neal, and he'd be damned if he left them behind. Years later, those suits from Vincent were pushed to the back of his closet, displaced by gifts from June, beautiful vintage suits that he'd had tailored to fit him perfectly, and a few contemporary pieces he'd invested in. Mozzie thought he was nuts, but then Mozzie had his own indulgences so he left Neal alone with his fashion.

Standing in front of the restaurant, Neal checked his clothes one more time. He took off his hat and smoothed his hair down then took a deep breath and stepped inside. He closed his eyes for a moment to let the rich smells of garlic and spices wash over him, and when he opened his eyes again a beautiful woman was watching him. For a heartbeat she reminded him of Kate, but then he saw the depth of intelligence and kindness in her eyes, and he knew they were nothing alike. She was sitting by herself at table, wearing a snug blue dress that flattered her curves, and if Neal hadn't been there for a date he would have approached her. Instead he just gave her a small smile then turned away looking for Peter.

Neal felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, almost stepping on Peter's feet. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there." Peter looked good, dressed in a well-fitting black dress shirt and charcoal gray pants. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, no tie, but the slightly relaxed look suited him and made it clear that this evening he wasn't Special Agent Peter Burke. Neal very much approved.

"I think I know where you were looking," Peter said, glancing over at the brunette with the big blue eyes.

"Well, I--" Neal knew he hadn't been doing anything wrong, but at the same time he didn't want to come off as the kind of guy who would flirt with other people while he was on a date.

Peter smiled then, slow and a little smug. "Lucky for us, she's my wife."

Neal blinked, surprised and pleased. "Wow, I guess we shouldn't leave her sitting by herself then or we might find ourselves ditched for the evening."

"Oh no, she's far too interested in meeting you, but you're right, we should join her." Peter started walking, and Neal followed, winding his way through the tables until they reached their destination. "Hon, I'd like you to meet Neal Caffrey. Neal, this is my wife Elizabeth Mitchell."

"I'm very pleased to meet you." Neal reached out and took Elizabeth's hand, giving it a soft squeeze instead of shaking, and she smiled up at him.

"Please you two, sit down. I've been sitting here mooning over the menu while I waited."

The round table was set for three, so when Peter took a seat at Elizabeth's left side, Neal sat on her right. He looked at them both sitting across from him at pleasing angles, and it felt good. He glanced at the menu and picked a dish nearly at random, then folded it in front of him again. Within minutes, they all placed their orders, and Elizabeth ordered a bottle of wine that even Mozzie would've appreciated.

They talked and drank and talked and ate, starting with the mundane details of what they each did for work and then moving on to music and the other arts. Neal heard all about Peter and Elizabeth's dog, and Neal talked about Mozzie, making it clear that he was a friend--family, really--not a lover. It was all light, pleasant conversation, but Neal could feel the threads of attraction and interest and lust weaving through their words. It was almost a physical form, pulling them all together around the table, each of them watching each other watch each other.

"So," Elizabeth said, when their plates had been taken away and they were all sipping their coffee, "Neal, do you think we can entice you to come home with us tonight?"

Neal wanted to get his hands on the both of them as soon as humanly possible, but he also felt _right_ with Peter and Elizabeth in a way he hadn't felt for a long time, and he wasn't going to put his heart on the line for a fuck. He could always find somebody to scratch that itch, but finding people he thought he could love, could live with for a long time, was a much more difficult process. He dropped his gaze to the table for a moment to settle his thoughts then looked back up to see Peter and Elizabeth holding hands, nervousness and hope lingering around the edges of their smiles.

"Are you looking at this as the end of a seduction? Or as the beginning of a relationship that might become serious?"

Peter reached out and brushed his fingers lightly over Neal's wrist, then put his broad, warm hand entirely on top of Neal's. "I'm hoping that this is a seduction that might be the start of a serious relationship. I don't--I thought for a long time that I wasn't even attracted to men. I dated a few guys when I was in college, but I wasn't really attracted to any of them, at least not enough that I wanted to be with them for more than experimental purposes. We've never brought a man into our bed for casual sex, and I can't imagine starting now."

"But if you're not attracted to men--"

"I'm attracted to you. God, Neal," Peter leaned in close, his lips brushing the curve of Neal's ear, "I would fuck you right here on this table if it wouldn't get me arrested and fired from my job." He sat up again but pressed his knee against Neal's under the table. "But I want more than that, too."

"Don't you feel it?" Elizabeth reached out and touched her delicate fingers to Neal's other hand, her fingernails scratching just a little. "This feels right, and I can promise you we've never felt this way about any of the pretty girls we've taken home."

Elizabeth's words, _this feels right_ , echoed Neal's own thoughts, but he couldn't deny his fears any more than he could deny his feelings for them. He turned both of his wrists to take hold of Peter and Elizabeth's hands, joining them as a circle, hand in hand in hand. "No," he said quietly, "I won't go back to your house, but I want you to come to my apartment. I'm only six blocks away."

Peter looked confused, Elizabeth thoughtful. "But what about your roommate?" Peter asked.

"He's at an all-night film festival, and of course we have our own bedrooms. I know my place is certainly smaller than yours, and I've heard everything you've said, but if we go to your home I'm going to feel like the boy brought in for the one-night-stand. I--" Neal drew his hands back, breaking contact to take a long sip of his cooling coffee. "At my first job out of school, I met a duo and fell in love. _I_ fell in love, and I thought it was mutual, but it turned out I was wrong, and it didn't end well. Not for me, at least. If you come back to my place, I can tell myself that I'm taking _you_ to _my_ bed, and if it ends there I can live with that."

"Oh, honey." El took Neal's hand in hers again. "You're not anybody's boy, obviously, and if it takes going to your apartment to get you out of that incredible suit then I'm absolutely on board with that. What about you, Hon?"

"Very much on board," Peter said, his voice low. Low like heavy gray storm clouds when the ground desperately needed rain. "On board and ready to leave the station."

Peter pulled out his wallet and counted out cash to pay the check, and Neal didn't bother wasting time with arguing. He took a twenty from his wallet to add to the tip, and then they were on their way out of the restaurant and into the open air of the street. Elizabeth moved to the curb, looking for a cab.

"We can walk, if you want. Like I said, I'm only six blocks away."

"Honey, I wore these heels for one reason tonight, and that reason wasn't that I planned on walking six blocks." Elizabeth winked, and Neal looked down at her shoes, high, pointy heels that Neal didn't think he could've taken ten steps in. They looked like torture; they looked amazing.

Neal nodded, conceding her point. "A cab will be faster anyway."

"Faster is good," Peter agreed. Neal wanted to duck his head and touch the bare base of Peter's throat with his lips, his tongue, but Peter seemed like too private of a man to be comfortable doing that in public. Neal restrained himself and then a cab pulled over and they all piled in. The fantasy was about to become reality, and Neal hoped like hell that he wasn't making another mistake.

~~~

The cab ride was mercifully short, though in a less charged situation El wouldn't have minded a long ride squished in between Peter and Neal. Her dress was too snug for much creative movement, but she imagined Neal slipping his hand up under the hem and hiking it up, pushing her panties aside, working his fingers--his nimble artist's hands--between her folds and bringing her off right there in the cab while Peter watched.

The cab stopped in front of a modest apartment building, and El had to pull herself out of her fantasy long enough to get out of the car. Neal was on the passenger side, and he gave her his hand as she climbed out, balancing on the fabulous fuck-me heels she usually avoided because they were just so impractical. He made sure she was steady on the sidewalk, and El did dearly love a gentleman. Sometimes.

Neal's building had an elevator, thank goodness, but they had to share it with an old man and his tiny terrier. Peter caught her eye, silently asking her permission to focus on Neal first, and she sent him a wink. She had no problem whatsoever with catching that show before her turn for the spotlight. They exited the elevator before the old man and several hurried steps later Neal was unlocking his door, and they all went inside.

Neal flipped a light switch, illuminating an apartment that El distractedly noticed was beautifully if eclectically decorated, took off his hat and locked the door behind them. Before Neal could let go of the deadbolt, Peter wrapped his hands around Neal's shoulders, backed him against the door, and kissed him. The first kiss was almost brutal--a statement, a show of force--but then Peter pulled back and kissed softly at the edges of Neal's lips. He touched his hands to Neal's jaw then slid them up into his hair, and Neal moaned as Peter kissed the tender skin of his neck.

Peter had rarely kissed--really kissed--any of the women they'd brought into their bed, and El realized with a jolt that he was kissing Neal the way he kissed her. Not that first kiss, but all the tender ones after, and the thought of sharing that, seeing it from the outside, made El ache to touch herself but she wanted to wait.

Neal pushed against Peter's shoulders, and then Peter was the one with his back against the door, his eyelids fluttering closed, Neal pulling him down and claiming his lips. Neal stroked his hands down to Peter's chest then and turned to look at El.

"Your turn." He put his hands on her waist, pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Where he'd tilted his head up to meet Peter's lips, he bent down to reach El's, and there was something she loved about those shifting differences. Then he slid his hands down below her waist, pulled her in tighter and slipped his tongue between her lips. She hadn't kissed any man other than Peter in a very long time, and every curl of his tongue, every nip at her lips was a surprise.

She imitated Peter, pushing her hands up into the thick tangle of Neal's hair, and when she opened her eyes she saw Peter watching them. He was leaning against the door, one knee bent so that his foot was braced against the door as well, and there was no trace of jealousy in his expression. Neal kissed his way down El's throat to the top of her cleavage, and she sighed in pleasure. She watched Peter flick open the button on his pants and pull down the zipper, and she knew it was time to move the party to Neal's bedroom.

El cupped her hands under Neal's chin and nudged him to stand up. "Bedroom," she said, succinctly, and Neal looked over at Peter and grinned before nodding.

"Over here."

He led them into a room that was small but full of beautiful furniture, centered on a queen size sleigh bed. It would be tight for the three of them to sleep in, but there was plenty of room for them to play. El pulled the condoms and a few packets of lube out of her purse and set them on the bedside table as Neal closed the door.

El wanted to have Neal and Peter together in so many ways. She wanted them both inside her, filling her from front to back, holding her tight between them. She wanted to be on her back with Neal fucking her, Peter taking him from behind, her feet brushing against Peter's sides as they all moved together. She wanted a bathtub big enough for the three of them, whirlpool jets and fragrant oils. But this wasn't time for acrobatics and complicated maneuvers; this was exploration and expediency in equal measure.

El shimmied out of her dress and stepped out of her heels so that she was down to the pretty blue bra and panties set she'd picked out for the occasion, and Neal paused in pulling off his shirt to stare at her. Enjoying the weight of his gaze, she pulled off her underwear slowly, revealing herself to him. Naked, she stepped closer and tugged the crisp cotton shirt the rest of the way over his head then undid his pants and let them drop to the floor around his slim hips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter stripping himself down, watching them, and she made it a show, tugging down Neal's boxer briefs as she dropped to her knees, her back to the bed frame.

He was half-hard, his cock not as wide as Peter's but nearly as long. Uncut, gently curving, gorgeous. She ran her fingers along his length and looked up as he gasped at the light pressure.

Peter stepped up behind Neal and trailed a hand over the curve of his ass. "You want this?" he asked, in a low voice that made Elizabeth shiver.

"Please," Neal begged. He pushed El's hair back from her face, and when she looked up at him, he repeated it. "Please."

El sucked Neal slow, getting him hard, pulling back to tease with her lips, sucking him in again, backing away any time he got too close to the edge. She listened as Peter opened him up--the squeeze of the lube, slick fingers working their way inside, Neal's shuddering breaths and the tiny, desperate sounds he let escape. She kept an eye on Peter, and when he rolled his own condom on and nodded she slipped out from between Neal and the side of the bed and climbed up to the top of the mattress where she'd have the best view.

Neal opened his eyes, opened his mouth to complain, but then Peter smoothed a hand over his back and bent him over until he was leaning against the bed. He nudged Neal's legs further apart, centered himself and pushed inside. El had watched Peter penetrate women before, but she'd never seen his face so intent, his movements so sharp. She'd never seen him take a man's cock in his hand either but he reached around and worked Neal in time with the motion of his hips.

El spread her thighs enough to dip one finger inside herself, and she spread that wetness along her slit, pushed her fingertips against her clit, pleasure and tension gathering low in her belly. Neal was breathing hard, biting his lip, Peter like some wild version of her husband slamming into him from behind. Neal came, his face wretched and beautiful, and when Peter followed right behind El was with him, grinding into her hand shaking through her first orgasm of the night.

When she opened her eyes she saw Peter pulling out of Neal, Neal collapsing to his knees next to the bed, oddly like a child saying bedtime prayers. The bed was high enough that his head just cleared the mattress, and El crawled over to lie down in front of him. She took his hot, sweaty face in her hands and kissed the sweat and tears from his cheeks before kissing him gently on the mouth.

"Come up here."

Neal climbed up in front of El while Peter slipped in behind, reclining against the pillows with his legs spread wide. El knew where he was going and liked his way of thinking, so she scooted back to lean against his chest, cradled between his thighs, the strong body she'd loved for so long. She bent her knees and spread her legs, and Neal crawled up to kneel in front of her, all wiry muscles, lanky and angular.

He sank down between her legs, and El closed her eyes as Peter cupped his hands over her breasts. Neal didn't rush, he took his time exploring her with his lips, his tongue, the tip of his nose, while Peter lazily swirled his fingers around her nipples, drawing them into tighter and tighter points. El let herself drift between the sensations, and zings of pleasure traveled through her body, her hands trembling one moment, her knees unsteady the next.

She rocked her hips against Neal as he found the perfect pressure, the perfect speed, and Peter knew just the right moment to scrape his thumbnails over the tips of her sensitized nipples. Just the right moment. She came, leaning into Peter's arms as electric waves of pleasure moved through her and she struggled to breathe enough to satisfy her starving lungs. When she could open her eyes, when only small frissons of sensation moved through her belly and between her legs, she tugged on Neal's arm. He climbed up to lay on top of her, the three of them sweaty and replete, sticky and exhausted and right.

They dozed together until their sweat cooled and dried, and the little voice of responsibility started to whisper in Elizabeth's ear. "Hon," she said, tilting her head to talk to Peter. "Satch."

"Oh, crap." Peter sighed heavily.

"Your dog?" Neal stirred and rolled off of El's belly, leaving her feeling chilly and exposed.

She sat up and crossed her legs loosely in front of her. "I wish we could stay here all night, right here, but we can't leave him alone so long without making preparations ahead of time."

"I understand," Neal said, but she could see him drawing into himself, putting together his walls.

"Come home with us," Peter ordered, then turned it into a request. "Will you come home with us now?"

Neal didn't answer immediately, but he stood up and pulled on a thin robe that had been draped over a chair, knotting the belt. He looked back up at them then, and El felt her stomach sink.

"I'm just not ready. I'm sorry, I want to but--"

"If you want to come home with us, then just do it, just come with us." Peter, ever the linear thinker.

El retrieved her purse and pulled out a pen and the receipt from buying the condoms at Duane Reade. On the back, she wrote down their address, then she folded it and passed it to Neal. "This is where we'll be. We want you there, so if you change your mind just come."

"My wife is right, as usual. When you're ready, we'll be there."

Neal looked at them, letting his fear and his desire show in his face for a moment before he smoothed it over with a smile. "Okay. Thank you."

El and Peter climbed down from the bed, and she dearly wished for a shower and some fresh clothes rather than her slightly damp underwear and dressy clothes. But the clothes were her only option, and she didn't want to do Neal the disservice of prolonging their goodbye. Peter looked deliciously disheveled in his rumpled clothes--the outfit she'd picked out for him--but she was too worn out to think about doing anything about it when they got home.

"I wish you didn't have to leave." Neal's words startled El while she was stepping into her heels.

"Me too," she said gently, "but I don't want to go home tomorrow to a lonely, neurotic dog."

"Not to mention the stink issue," Peter interjected, his hand a welcome pressure on El's back.

"Ew, understood." Neal made a face, and the awkwardness of the moment was defused.

They all hugged and kissed goodnight, chaste kisses that held a hope for something more, and El and Peter made their way home together. They didn't talk in the cab, both of them processing the events of the night, but they communicated with the language of hands held and shoulders leaned together. At home, they let Satchmo out, gave him his treat and then went off to bed.

The bed felt too big, suddenly, holding just the two of them. There was more than enough room for three, and El could feel it around her, the coolness of untouched sheets. She understood Neal's need to protect himself from falling too deeply into a situation where he might get hurt, and she knew that she would always have Peter, but as Peter curled around her that night she feared that if Neal didn't come back to them they might never feel that completeness-in-two again.

In the morning, El was barely awake, shuffling around the kitchen making coffee while Peter walked Satchmo, when she heard a knock at the front door. Logic said that Peter had probably just forgotten his keys, or maybe they were being visited by proselytizers, but her heart rate jumped all the same. She looked down at herself, at her silly lounge set and slippers, but there was no time to change and probably no reason.

She opened the door, and there was Neal Caffrey, wearing khaki pants and a casual button-down shirt, carrying a large bag from the bagel shop down the street.

"Good morning," he said, with a shy smile that made Elizabeth realize, with a clench of certainty in her belly, that she loved him. She'd known him for twelve hours, and she was pretty sure she loved him.

She watched as Peter walked up the steps behind Neal, a cautious kind of hope in his eyes, Satchmo surging ahead to meet the new person. "Neal," he said, "I see you found us."

"I think I owe you both breakfast," he said, hoisting the bag, and Elizabeth stepped back to let him walk through the door. Even if Neal hadn't quite figured it out yet, she knew he was finally home.

~~~

_One year later_

The new house was a few subway stops and a bus connection further away from Manhattan, but as Peter sat watching Neal paint in the bright morning light that wouldn't have made its way to the windows of the row house on Dekalb he didn't mind the longer commute at all. They all loved the new house--Neal loved the room he'd turned into a studio for working on his own original art, El loved the master bathroom they'd expanded and renovated, Peter loved the room they'd turned into an office for him, which doubled as a place to display all of his baseball memorabilia without risking Satchmo-induced-damage or offending El's design sense.

More than anything, they all loved the new house because it was _theirs_. It wasn't the Burke and Mitchell residence, into which Neal Caffrey was welcome as a beloved guest, and it wasn't Neal's apartment, where they all squeezed into a too-small bed and tried to avoid being naked in front of Mozzie and his new girlfriend. It was Peter and Elizabeth and Neal's house on the deed and in their hearts.

Peter looked at the new ring on his finger, appreciating the way it shone in the morning light Neal loved so much. Silvery white gold was entwined between the warm pink and yellow gold of the rings he and El had worn before, and Peter didn't think the colors would ever find their way apart again.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine their rings looking like [this](http://i49.tinypic.com/npnbrd.jpg) or possibly [this](http://i49.tinypic.com/qog3v5.gif).


End file.
